Character Writings of the Seventeenth Century Part 25

A QUIBBLER

Is a juggler of words, that shows tricks with them, to make them appear what they were not meant for and serve two senses at once, like one that plays on two Jew's trumps. He is a fencer of language, that falsifies his blow and hits where he did not aim. He has a foolish sleight of wit that catches at words only and lets the sense go, like the young thief in the farce that took a purse, but gave the owner his money back again.

He is so well versed in all cases of quibble, that he knows when there will be a blot upon a word as soon as it is out. He packs his quibbles like a stock of cards; let him but shuffle, and cut where you will, he will be sure to have it. He dances on a rope of sand, does the somersault, strappado, and half-strappado with words, plays at all manner of games with clinches, carwickets, and quibbles, and talks under-leg. His wit is left-handed, and therefore what others mean for right he apprehends quite contrary. All his conceptions are produced by equivocal generation, which makes them justly esteemed but maggots. He rings the changes upon words, and is so expert that he can tell at first sight how many variations any number of words will bear. He talks with a trillo, and gives his words a double relish. He had rather have them bear two senses in vain and impertinently than one to the purpose, and never speaks without a leer-sense. He talks nothing but equivocation and mental reservation, and mightily affects to give a word a double stroke, like a tennis-ball against two walls at one blow, to defeat the expectation of his antagonist. He commonly slurs every fourth or fifth word, and seldom fails to throw doublets. There are two sorts of quibbling, the one with words and the other with sense, like the rhetorician's _figurae dictionis et figurae sententiae_--the first is already cried down, and the other as yet prevails, and is the only elegance of our modern poets, which easy judges call easiness; but having nothing in it but easiness, and being never used by any lasting wit, will in wiser times fall to nothing of itself.

A TIME-SERVER

Wears his religion, reason, and understanding always in the mode, and endeavours as far as he can to be one of the first in the fas.h.i.+on, let it change as oft as it can. He makes it his business, like a politic epicure, to entertain his opinion, faith, and judgment with nothing but what he finds to be most in season, and is as careful to make his understanding ready according to the present humour of affairs as the gentleman was that used every morning to put on his clothes by the weather-gla.s.s. He has the same reverend esteem of the modern age as an antiquary has for venerable antiquity, and, like a gla.s.s, receives readily any present object, but takes no notice of that which is past or to come. He is always ready to become anything as the times shall please to dispose of him, but is really nothing of himself; for he that sails before every wind can be bound for no port. He accounts it blasphemy to speak against anything in present vogue, how vain or ridiculous soever, and arch-heresy to approve of anything, though ever so good and wise, that is laid by; and therefore casts his judgment and understanding upon occasion, as bucks do their horns, when the season arrives to breed new against the next, to be cast again. He is very zealous to show himself, upon all occasions, a true member of the Church for the time being, that has not the least scruple in his conscience against the doctrine or discipline of it, as it stands at present, or shall do hereafter, unsight unseen; for he is resolved to be always for the truth, which he believes is never so plainly demonstrated as in that character that says it is great and prevails, and in that sense only fit to be adhered to by a prudent man, who will never be kinder to Truth than she is to him; for suffering is a very evil effect, and not like to proceed from a good cause. He is a man of a right public spirit, for he resigns himself wholly to the will and pleasure of the times, and, like a zealous implicit patriot, believes as the State believes, though he neither knows nor cares to know what that is.

A PRATER

Is a common nuisance, and as great a grievance to those that come near him as a pewterer is to his neighbours. His discourse is like the braying of a mortar, the more impertinent the more voluble and loud, as a pestle makes more noise when it is rung on the sides of a mortar than when it stamps downright and hits upon the business. A dog that opens upon a wrong scent will do it oftener than one that never opens but upon a right. He is as long-winded as a ventiduct that fills as fast as it empties, or a trade-wind that blows one way for half-a-year together, and another as long, as if it drew in its breath for six months, and blew it out again for six more. He has no mercy on any man's ears or patience that he can get within his sphere of activity, but tortures him, as they correct boys in Scotland, by stretching their lugs without remorse. He is like an earwig; when he gets within a man's ear he is not easily to be got out again. He will stretch a story as unmercifully as he does the ears of those he tells it to, and draw it out in length like a breast of mutton at the Hercules pillars, or a piece of cloth set on the tenters, till it is quite spoiled and good for nothing. If he be an orator that speaks _distincte et ornate_, though not _apte_, he delivers his circ.u.mstances with the same mature deliberation that one that drinks with a gusto swallows his wine, as if he were loth to part with it sooner than he must of necessity; or a gamester that pulls the cards that are dealt him one by one, to enjoy the pleasure more distinctly of seeing what game he has in his hand. He takes so much pleasure to hear himself speak, that he does not perceive with what uneasiness other men endure him, though they express it ever so plainly; for he is so diverted with his own entertainment of himself, that he is not at leisure to take notice of any else. He is a siren to himself, and has no way to escape s.h.i.+pwreck but by having his mouth stopped instead of his ears. He plays with his tongue as a cat does with her tail, and is transported with the delight he gives himself of his own making. He understands no happiness like that of having an opportunity to show his abilities in public, and will venture to break his neck to show the activity of his eloquence; for the tongue is not only the worst part of a bad servant, but of an ill master that does not know how to govern it; for then it is like Guzman's wife, very headstrong and not sure of foot.

A DISPUTANT

Is a holder of arguments, and wagers too, when he cannot make them good.

He takes naturally to controversy, like fishes in India that are said to have worms in their heads and swim always against the stream. The greatest mastery of his art consists in turning and winding the state of the question, by which means he can easily defeat whatsoever has been said by his adversary, though excellently to the purpose, like a bowler that knocks away the jack when he sees another man's bowl lie nearer to it than his own. Another of his faculties is with a mult.i.tude of words to render what he says so difficult to be recollected that his adversary may not easily know what he means, and consequently not understand what to answer, to which he secretly reserves an advantage to reply by interpreting what he said before otherwise than he at first intended it, according as he finds it serve his purpose to evade whatsoever shall be objected. Next to this, to pretend not to understand, or misinterpret what his antagonist says, though plain enough, only to divert him from the purpose, and to take occasion from his exposition of what he said to start new cavils on the bye and run quite away from the question; but when he finds himself pressed home and beaten from all his guards, to amuse the foe with some senseless distinction, like a falsified blow that never hits where 'tis aimed, but while it is minded makes way for some other trick that may pa.s.s. But that which renders him invincible is abundance of confidence and words, which are his offensive and defensive arms; for a brazen face is a natural helmet or beaver, and he that has store of words needs not surrender for want of ammunition. No matter for reason and sense, that go for no more in disputations than the justice of a cause does in war, which is understood but by few and commonly regarded by none. For the custom of disputants is not so much to destroy one another's reason as to cavil at the manner of expressing it, right or wrong; for they believe _Dolus an virtus_, &c., ought to be allowed in controversy as war, and he that gets the victory on any terms whatsoever deserves it and gets it honourably. He and his opponent are like two false lute-strings that will never stand in tune to one another, or like two tennis-players whose greatest skill consists in avoiding one another's strokes.

A PROJECTOR

Is by interpretation a man of forecast. He is an artist of plots, designs, and expedients to find out money, as others hide it, where n.o.body would look for it. He is a great rectifier of the abuses of all trades and mysteries, yet has but one remedy for all diseases; that is, by getting a patent to share with them, by virtue of which they become authorised, and consequently cease to be cheats. He is a great promoter of the public good, and makes it his care and study to contrive expedients that the nation may not be ill served with false rags, arbitrary puppet-plays, and insufficient monsters, of all which he endeavours to get the superintendency. He will undertake to render treasonable pedlars, that carry intelligence between rebels and fanatics, true subjects and well-affected to the Government for half-a-crown a quarter, which he takes for giving them license to do so securely and uncontrolled. He gets as much by those projects that miscarry as by those that hold (as lawyers are paid as well for undoing as preserving of men); for when he has drawn in adventurers to purchase shares of the profit, the sooner it is stopped the better it proves for him; for, his own business being done, he is the sooner rid of theirs.

He is very expert at gauging the understandings of those he deals with, and has his engines always ready with mere air to blow all their money out of their pockets into his own, as vintners do wine out of one vessel into another. He is very amorous of his country, and prefers the public good before his own advantage, until he has joined them both together in some monopoly, and then he thinks he has done his part, and may be allowed to look after his own affairs in the second place. The chiefest and most useful part of his talent consists in quacking and lying, which he calls answering of objections and convincing the ignorant. Without this he can do nothing; for as it is the common practice of most knaveries, so it is the surest and best fitted to the vulgar capacities of the world; and though it render him more ridiculous to some few, it always prevails upon the greater part.

A COMPLEMENTER

Is one that endeavours to make himself appear a very fine man in persuading another that he is so, and by offering those civilities which he does not intend to part with, believes he adds to his own reputation and obliges another for nothing. He is very free in making presents of his services, because he is certain he cannot possibly receive in return less than they are worth. He differs very much from all other critics in punctilios of honour; for he esteems himself very uncivilly dealt with if his vows and protestations pa.s.s for anything but mere lies and vanities. When he gives his word, he believes it is no longer his, and therefore holds it very unreasonable to give it and keep it too. He divides his services among so many that there comes but little or nothing to any one man's share, and therefore they are very willing to let him take it back again. He makes over himself in truth to every man, but still it is to his own uses to secure his t.i.tle against all other claims and cheat his creditors. He is very generous of his promises, but still it is without lawful consideration, and so they go for nothing. He extols a man to his face, like those that write in praise of an author to show his own wit, not his whom they undertake to commend. He has certain set forms and routines of speech, which he can say over while he thinks on anything else, as a Catholic does his prayers, and therefore never means what he says. His words flow easily from him, but so shallow that they will bear no weight at all. All his offers of endearment are but like terms of course, that carry their own answers along with them, and therefore pa.s.s for nothing between those that understand them, and deceive those only that believe in them. He professes most kindness commonly to those he least cares for, like an host that bids a man welcome when he is going away. He had rather be every man's menial servant than any one man's friend; for servants gain by their masters, and men often lose by their friends.

A CHEAT

Is a freeman of all trades, and all trades of his. Fraud and treachery are his calling, though his profession be the strictest integrity and truth. He spins nets, like a spider, out of his own entrails, to entrap the simple and unwary that light in his way, whom he devours and feeds upon. All the greater sort of cheats, being allowed by authority, have lost their names (as judges, when they are called to the Bench, are no more styled lawyers) and left the t.i.tle to the meaner only and the unallowed. The common ignorance of mankind is his province, which he orders to the best advantage. He is but a tame highwayman, that does the same things by stratagem and design which the other does by force, makes men deliver their understandings first, and after their purses. Oaths and lies are his tools that he works with, and he gets his living by the drudgery of his conscience. He endeavours to cheat the devil by mortgaging his soul so many times over and over to him, forgetting that he has d.a.m.nations, as priests have absolutions of all prices. He is a kind of a just judgment, sent into this world to punish the confidence and curiosity of ignorance, that out of a natural inclination to error will tempt its own punishment and help to abuse itself. He can put on as many shapes as the devil that set him on work, is one that fishes in muddy understandings, and will tickle a trout in his own element till he has him in his clutches, and after in his dish or the market. He runs down none but those which he is certain are _fera natura_, mere natural animals, that belong to him that can catch them. He can do no feats without the co-operating a.s.sistance of the chouse, whose credulity commonly meets the impostor half-way, otherwise nothing is done; for all the craft is not in the catching (as the proverb says), but the better half at least in being catched. He is one that, like a bond without fraud, covin, and further delay, is void and of none effect, otherwise does stand and remain in full power, force, and virtue. He trusts the credulous with what hopes they please at a very easy rate, upon their own security, until he has drawn them far enough in, and then makes them pay for all at once. The first thing he gets from him is a good opinion, and afterwards anything he pleases; for after he has drawn from his guards he deals with him like a surgeon, and ties his arm before he lets him blood.

A TEDIOUS MAN

Talks to no end, as well as to no purpose; for he would never come at it willingly. His discourse is like the road-miles in the north, the filthier and dirtier the longer; and he delights to dwell the longer upon them to make good the old proverb that says they are good for the dweller, but ill for the traveller. He sets a tale upon the rack, and stretches until it becomes lame and out of joint. Hippocrates says art is long; but he is so for want of art. He has a vein of dulness, that runs through all he says or does; for nothing can be tedious that is not dull and insipid. Digressions and repet.i.tions, like bag and baggage, r.e.t.a.r.d his march and put him to perpetual halts. He makes his approaches to a business by oblique lines, as if he meant to besiege it, and fetches a wide compa.s.s about to keep others from discovering what his design is. He is like one that travels in a dirty deep road, that moves slowly; and, when he is at a stop, goes back again, and loses more time in picking of his way than in going it. How troublesome and uneasy soever he is to others, he pleases himself so well that he does not at all perceive it; for though home be homely, it is more delightful than finer things abroad; and he that is used to a thing and knows no better believes that other men, to whom it appears otherwise, have the same sense of it that he has; as melancholy persons that fancy themselves to be gla.s.s believe that all others think them so too; and therefore that which is tedious to others is not so to him, otherwise he would avoid it; for it does not so often proceed from a natural defect as affectation and desire to give others that pleasure which they find themselves, though it always falls out quite contrary. He that converses with him is like one that travels with a companion that rides a lame jade; he must either endure to go his pace or stay for him; for though he understands long before what he would be at better than he does himself, he must have patience and stay for him, until, with much ado to little purpose, he at length comes to him; for he believes himself injured if he should bate a jot of his own diversion.

A PRETENDER

Is easily acquainted with all knowledges, but never intimate with any; he remembers he has seen them somewhere before, but cannot possibly call to mind where. He will call an art by its name, and claim acquaintance with it at first sight. He knew it perfectly, as the Platonics say, in the other world, but has had the unhappiness to discontinue his acquaintance ever since his occasions called him into this. He claps on all the sail he can possibly make, though his vessel be empty and apt to overset. He is of a true philosophical temper, contented with a little, desires no more knowledge than will satisfy nature, and cares not what his wants are so he can but keep them from the eyes of the world. His parts are unlimited; for as no man knows his abilities, so he does his endeavour that as few should his defects. He wears himself in opposition to the mode, for his lining is much coa.r.s.er than his outside; and as others line their serge with silk, he lines his silk with serge. All his care is employed to appear not to be; for things that are not and things that appear not are not only the same in law, but in all other affairs of the world. It should seem that the most impudent face is the best; for he that does the shamefulest thing most unconcerned is said to set a good face upon it; for the truth is, the face is but the outside of the mind, but all the craft is to know how 'tis lined. Howsoever, he fancies himself as able as any man, but not being in a capacity to try the experiment, the hint-keeper of Gresham College is the only competent judge to decide the controversy. He may, for anything he knows, have as good a t.i.tle to his pretences as another man; for judgment being not past in the case (which shall never be by his means), his t.i.tle still stands fair. All he can possibly attain to is but to be another thing than nature meant him, though a much worse. He makes that good that Pliny says of children, _Qui celerius fari cepere, tardius ingredi incipiunt_. The apter he is to smatter, the slower he is in making any advance in his pretences. He trusts words before he is thoroughly acquainted with them, and they commonly show him a trick before he is aware; and he shows at the same time his ignorance to the learned and his learning to the ignorant.

A NEWSMONGER

Is a retailer of rumour that takes up upon trust and sells as cheap as he buys. He deals in a perishable commodity that will not keep; for if it be not fresh it lies upon his hands and will yield nothing. True or false is all one to him; for novelty being the grace of both, a truth grows stale as soon as a lie; and as a slight suit will last as well as a better while the fas.h.i.+on holds, a lie serves as well as truth till new ones come up. He is little concerned whether it be good or bad, for that does not make it more or less news; and, if there be any difference, he loves the bad best, because it is said to come soonest; for he would willingly bear his share in any public calamity to have the pleasure of hearing and telling it. He is deeply read in diurnals, and can give as good an account of Rowland Pepin, if need be, as another man. He tells news, as men do money, with his fingers; for he a.s.sures them it comes from very good hands. The whole business of his life is, like that of a spaniel, to fetch and carry news, and when he does it well he is clapped on the back and fed for it; for he does not take to it altogether, like a gentleman, for his pleasure, but when he lights on a considerable parcel of news, he knows where to put it off for a dinner, and quarter himself upon it until he has eaten it out; and by this means he drives a trade, by retrieving the first news to truck it for the first meat in season, and, like the old Roman luxury, ransacks all seas and lands to please his palate; for he imports his narratives from all parts within the geography of a diurnal, and eats as well upon the Russ and Polander as the English and Dutch. By this means his belly is provided for, and nothing lies upon his hands but his back, which takes other courses to maintain itself by weft and stray silver spoons, straggling hoods and scarfs, pimping, and sets at _L'Ombre_.

A MODERN CRITIC

Is a corrector of the press gratis; and as he does it for nothing, so it is to no purpose. He fancies himself clerk of Stationers' Hall, and nothing must pa.s.s current that is not entered by him. He is very severe in his supposed office, and cries, "Woe to ye scribes!" right or wrong.

He supposes all writers to be malefactors without clergy that claim the privilege of their books, and will not allow it where the law of the land and common justice does. He censures in gross, and condemns all without examining particulars. If they will not confess and accuse themselves, he will rack them until they do. He is a committee-man in the commonwealth of letters, and as great a tyrant, so is not bound to proceed but by his own rules, which he will not endure to be disputed.

He has been an apocryphal scribbler himself; but his writings wanting authority, he grew discontent and turned apostate, and thence becomes so severe to those of his own profession. He never commends anything but in opposition to something else that he would undervalue, and commonly sides with the weakest, which is generous anywhere but in judging. He is worse than an _index expurgatorius_; for he blots out all, and when he cannot find a fault, makes one. He demurs to all writers, and when he is overruled, will run into contempt. He is always bringing writs of error, like a pettifogger, and reversing of judgments, though the case be never so plain. He is a mountebank that is always quacking of the infirm and diseased parts of books, to show his skill, but has nothing at all to do with the sound. He is a very ungentle reader, for he reads sentence on all authors that have the unhappiness to come before him; and therefore pedants, that stand in fear of him, always appeal from him beforehand, by the name of Momus and Zoilus, complain sorely of his extra-judicial proceedings, and protest against him as corrupt, and his judgment void and of none effect, and put themselves in the protection of some powerful patron, who, like a knight-errant, is to encounter with the magician and free them from his enchantments.

A BUSY MAN

Is one that seems to labour in every man's calling but his own, and, like Robin Goodfellow, does any man's drudgery that will let him. He is like an ape, that loves to do whatsoever he sees others do, and is always as busy as a child at play. He is a great undertaker, and commonly as great an underperformer. His face is like a lawyer's buckram rag, that has always business in it, and as he trots about his head travels as fast as his feet. He covets his neighbour's business, and his own is to meddle, not do. He is very lavish of his advice, and gives it freely, because it is worth nothing, and he knows not what to do with it himself. He is a common-barreter for his pleasure, that takes no money, but pettifogs gratis. He is very inquisitive after every man's occasions, and charges himself with them like a public notary. He is a great overseer of State affairs, and can judge as well of them before he understands the reasons as afterwards. He is excellent at preventing inconveniences and finding out remedies when 'tis too late; for, like prophecies, they are never heard of till it is to no purpose. He is a great reformer, always contriving of expedients, and will press them with as much earnestness as if himself and every man he meets had power to impose them on the nation. He is always giving aim to State affairs, and believes by s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g of his body he can make them shoot which way he pleases. He inquires into every man's history, and makes his own commentaries upon it as he pleases to fancy it. He wonderfully affects to seem full of employments, and borrows men's business only to put on and appear in, and then returns it back again, only a little worse. He frequents all public places, and, like a pillar in the old Exchange, is hung with all men's business, both public and private, and his own is only to expose them. He dreads nothing so much as to be thought at leisure, though he is never otherwise; for though he be always doing, he never does anything.

A PEDANT

Is a dwarf scholar, that never outgrows the mode and fas.h.i.+on of the school where he should have been taught. He wears his little learning, unmade-up, puts it on before it was half finished, without pressing or smoothing. He studies and uses words with the greatest respect possible, merely for their own sakes, like an honest man, without any regard of interest, as they are useful and serviceable to things, and among those he is kindest to strangers (like a civil gentleman) that are far from their own country and most unknown. He collects old sayings and ends of verses, as antiquaries do old coins, and is as glad to produce them upon all occasions. He has sentences ready lying by him for all purposes, though to no one, and talks of authors as familiarly as his fellow-collegiates. He will challenge acquaintance with those he never saw before, and pretend to intimate knowledge of those he has only heard of. He is well stored with terms of art, but does not know how to use them, like a country-fellow that carries his gloves in his hands, not his hands in his gloves. He handles arts and sciences like those that can play a little upon an instrument, but do not know whether it be in tune or not. He converses by the book, and does not talk, but quote. If he can but screw in something that an ancient writer said, he believes it to be much better than if he had something of himself to the purpose.

His brain is not able to concoct what it takes in, and therefore brings things up as they were swallowed, that is, crude and undigested, in whole sentences, not a.s.similated sense, which he rather affects; for his want of judgment, like want of health, renders his appet.i.te preposterous. He pumps for affected and far-set expressions, and they always prove as far from the purpose. He admires canting above sense. He is worse than one that is utterly ignorant, as a c.o.c.k that sees a little fights worse than one that is stark blind. He speaks in a different dialect from other men, and much affects forced expressions, forgetting that hard words, as well as evil ones, corrupt good manners. He can do nothing, like a conjurer, out of the circle of his arts, nor in it without canting and ... If he professes physic, he gives his patients sound, hard words for their money, as cheap as he can afford; for they cost him money, and study too, before he came by them, and he has reason to make as much of them as he can.

A HUNTER

Is an auxiliary hound that a.s.sists one nation of beasts to subdue and overrun another. He makes mortal war with the fox for committing acts of hostility against his poultry. He is very solicitous to have his dogs well descended of wors.h.i.+pful families, and understands their pedigree as learnedly as if he were a herald, and is as careful to match them according to their rank and qualities as High-Germans are of their own progenies. He is both cook and physician to his hounds, understands the const.i.tutions of their bodies, and what to administer in any infirmity or disease, acute or chronic, that can befall them. Nor is he less skilful in physiognomy, and from the aspects of their faces, shape of their snouts, falling of their ears and lips, and make of their barrels will give a shrewd guess at their inclinations, parts, and abilities, and what parents they are lineally descended from; and by the tones of their voices and statures of their persons easily discover what country they are natives of. He believes no music in the world is comparable to a chorus of their voices, and that when they are well matched they will hunt their parts as true at first scent as the best singers of catches that ever opened in a tavern; that they understand the scale as well as the best scholar that ever learned to compose by the mathematics; and that when he winds his horn to them 'tis the very same thing with a cornet in a quire; that they will run down the hare with a fugue, and a double do-sol-re-dog hunt a thorough-base to them all the while; that when they are at a loss they do but rest, and then they know by turns who are to continue a dialogue between two or three of them, of which he is commonly one himself. He takes very great pains in his way, but calls it game and sport because it is to no purpose; and he is willing to make as much of it as he can, and not be thought to bestow so much labour and pains about nothing. Let the hare take which way she will, she seldom fails to lead him at long-running to the alehouse, where he meets with an after-game of delight in making up a narrative how every dog behaved himself, which is never done without long dispute, every man inclining to favour his friend as far as he can; and if there be anything remarkable to his thinking in it, he preserves it to please himself and, as he believes, all people else with, during his natural life, and after leaves it to his heirs male entailed upon the family, with his bugle-horn and seal-ring.

AN AFFECTED MAN

Carries himself like his dish (as the proverb says), very uprightly, without spilling one drop of his humour. He is an orator and rhetorician, that delights in flowers and ornaments of his own devising to please himself and others that laugh at him. He is of a leaden, dull temper, that stands stiff, as it is bent, to all crooked lines, but never to the right. When he thinks to appear most graceful, he adorns himself most ill-favouredly, like an Indian that wears jewels in his lips and nostrils. His words and gestures are all as stiff as buckram, and he talks as if his lips were turned up as well as his beard. All his motions are regular, as if he went by clockwork, and he goes very true to the nick as he is set. He has certain favourite words and expressions, which he makes very much of, as he has reason to do, for they serve him upon all occasions and are never out of the way when he has use of them, as they have leisure enough to do, for n.o.body else has any occasion for them but himself. All his affectations are forced and stolen from others; and though they become some particular persons where they grow naturally, as a flower does on its stalk, he thinks they will do so by him when they are pulled and dead. He puts words and language out of its ordinary pace and breaks it to his own fancy, which makes it go so uneasy in a shuffle, which it has not been used to. He delivers himself in a forced way, like one that sings with a feigned voice beyond his natural compa.s.s. He loves the sound of words better than the sense, and will rather venture to incur nonsense than leave out a word that he has a kindness for. If he be a statesman, the slighter and meaner his employments are the bigger he looks, as an ounce of tin swells and looks bigger than an ounce of gold; and his affectations of gravity are the most desperate of all, as the aphorism says--Madness of study and consideration are harder to be cured than those of lighter and more fantastic humour.

A MEDICINE-TAKER

Has a sickly mind and believes the infirmity is in his body, like one that draws the wrong tooth and fancies his pain in the wrong place. The less he understands the reason of physic the stronger faith he has in it, as it commonly fares in all other affairs of the world. His disease is only in his judgment, which makes him believe a doctor can fetch it out of his stomach or his belly, and fright those worms out of his guts that are bred in his brain. He believes a doctor is a kind of conjurer that can do strange things, and he is as willing to have him think so; for by that means he does not only get his money, but finds himself in some possibility by complying with that fancy to do him good for it, which he could never expect to do any other way; for, like those that have been cured by drinking their own water, his own imagination is a better medicine than any the doctor knows how to prescribe, even as the weapon-salve cures a wound by being applied to that which made it. He is no sooner well but any story or lie of a new famous doctor or strange cure puts him into a relapse, and he falls sick of a medicine instead of a disease, and catches physic like him that fell into a looseness at the sight of a purge. He never knows when he is well or sick, but is always tampering with his health till he has spoiled it, like a foolish musician that breaks his strings with striving to put them in tune; for Nature, which is physic, understands better how to do her own work than those that take it from her at second hand. Hippocrates says, _Ars longa, vita brevis_, and it is the truest of all his aphorisms--